Dear Zak,

I fell in love with you the first time I saw you. You were dangling in the arms of Damon's little granddaughter (Erica). Little kids always hold animals like that, but you didn't seem to mind. Mom said, "Where's the puppy?"  You were so tiny. The runt of the litter. You had a round little belly. When I took you to the vet the next day to get worming medicine, you only weighed 2.5 lbs. I called you a puppling. I had to put a big block in front of the dog house so you could get in. You fell off the couch the first night in the house. You were such a cutie. I'd never had a puppy so small. Your colors  made you look like a little baby skunk.

Sly had been killed by a car a month or so before I got you. I had befriended one of my sheep customers. He had a litter of Border Collie puppies. When I told him about Sly he offered to give me one. I was hesitant. While I loved Sly dearly, her personality was over the top and I didn't want another dog with so much energy. Border Collies are notoriously high strung. I wasn't looking for a herding dog. Damon told me not to worry. He was right. You may have been part Border Collie, but you favored your Mastiff side. 

Your sire was a Tibetan Mastiff named Mongus. Mongus was a livestock guardian dog, eventually killed in an encounter with mountain lions in Colorado. You were calm and docile. Your sleepy eyes fooled people into thinking you were lethargic. One time when I was out of town, Dad wanted to take you to the vet. Mom said "No, he's fine. That's just the way he is."  And it was. I remember how you used to sit at the top of the steps with your feet dangling over the side. Those eyes. Those sad eyes. "You can always find hope in a dog's eyes."  I miss those eyes.

In your prime, you were a beautiful dog, tri-colored, with thick, silky hair. Even near the end, you were still a handsome boy. You looked more like a Mastiff to me, though you could tell you were part Border Collie. You loved to romp and play. You and Max especially loved to play together. I think Max was usually the instigator, but you held your own. Sometimes he would bite you. Sometimes you would have his leg in your mouth. I have such wonderful pictures of the two of you. I will treasure them forever. McComb and Boone were good buddies, too. Snow days were the most fun. You got along with everybody, even tolerating my niece's dog, Tic Tac (RIP) who I often took care of over the winter holidays. The new kitten Oliver seemed fond of you and you him.

You stopped walking on August 20, 2020. For seven weeks, I carried you outside three times a day to do your business. You never messed in the house until the end. You never lost your appetite or spirit. I'm sorry I ever gave you that prescription diet. I hope you liked the mutton I cooked for you. You never tired of treats and cheese. I hope I made your last days bearable with good food.

I'm sorry I didn't get to say goodbye to you. I'm sorry I wasn't there to stroke your fur when you left this world. That darn gall bladder of mine. I know that my sister Robin gave you comfort in the end, but I still wish I could have been there. Forgive me. You're walking again proudly. Running and playing with Max, McComb, and Boone. You're probably jockeying for position on a couch with Dad. Dad loved you. I'm glad you're together again. My place isn't the same without you. I miss you so much. 

Your ashes are in a box next to the other boxes containing ashes of McComb, Boone, Max, and Ms. Piggy. That's right. Ms. Piggy died the same week as you, a few days later. You didn't really know her, but Boone was very fond of her, as were all the kids that came to visit the farm.

Zak, thank you for all the love and joy you gave me. I hope I gave you a good life.

Love Susan

Zak
February 17, 2005 - September 30, 2020